I try not to gloat.
Monday morning, she still seems off, but assures me it’s just a cold or something. She’s not coughing or sneezing, but her eyes are red, which makes me think it’s probably allergies. She doesn’t seem to get better as the week goes on, but she doesn’t get any worse either, so I quit pestering her to tell my dad. She’ll get over it when the weather changes, and in the fall in Arkansas, that happens every other day.
Meanwhile, the school is in a pre-Homecoming craze. I don’t see why we have to decorate a building that’s already designed in our school colors, but I still end up helping Mindy and the rest of StuCo make the place impossibly more red and white. There are cardboard cowboys and cactuses and cow skulls as far as the eye can see.
Tuesday, we have an assembly to announce the Homecoming Court. When the last name called is Rosa’s instead of Mindy’s, Mindy’s shoulders droop, but she still claps and cheers as they attach a giant corsage to Rosa’s shirt. I pat her on the arm, wondering how she can care so much about this place and its opinions when we’re so close to escaping it.
Raychel, on the other hand, doesn’t even know who won. “Did you skip?” I ask at lunch, incredulous. Raych likes to pretend that she has a bad-girl reputation, but she never really breaks the rules. She works too hard, both at school and at work, to let something stupid like bad behavior mess up her college chances.
But she shrugs. “I just sat with Andrew and his friends on the back steps by the tennis court.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t get caught.”
“It was fine, Mother.” She stands up, crumpling her paper bag. It’s weird that her mom is making her lunches again. “Ms. Moses did almost catch us, but Eddie the janitor told her we were helping him look for some lost keys.”
“At least someone around here is thinking,” I mutter, and she gives me a dirty look.
RAYCHEL
My mom keeps apologizing, but it just makes me feel worse. I adjust my schedule so I see her as little as possible, only texting her the essentials when it’s unavoidable.
It’s unexpectedly easy to convince Matt I’m just sick. I started to tell him the truth, but part of me is holding out hope for a miracle. Most of me, however, is too depressed to even bring it up. He’ll just lecture me about scholarships and not giving up, and while I appreciate his positive attitude, I’m positive I would rather not hear it at the moment.
But he doesn’t really seem to notice anything’s wrong.
Andrew, on the other hand, had the truth out of me by the time we got to his house Monday afternoon. He didn’t give me advice. He just gave me a hug and let me get to work.
At least I didn’t blow any cash on a Homecoming dress. The event buzz at school is nothing but background noise to me, and Carson is like an annoying bee. Every day, he gives me some kind of compliment—something I can’t ignore, but can’t bring myself to appreciate either. On Wednesday, he brings me a doughnut, and accepting it makes me wonder if I’m somehow being unfaithful to Andrew. I want to slap the question out of my head the minute it appears.
“It sucks that you’re missing the dance,” Carson says. “But you should meet me at the after-party, at Trenton the Third’s house.”
“What will your date think about that?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’m only taking Haley because her parents will freak if she goes with her girlfriend.”
I pause. “That is … weirdly nice of you.”
“Weirdly?” He tilts his head. “I’m a nice guy.”
“Yeah.” My fingers toy with the lid on my coffee cup. “I guess you are.” What’s weird is that I almost mean it.
*
Asha calls Thursday with an invitation for Saturday night. “Hey,” I say. “Long time no see.”
She huffs. “It hasn’t been that long. What are you up to?”
“You know. The usual.” I consider telling her about Andrew, but Asha tends to confuse secrets and public knowledge when she drinks.
“Well, Spencer said Matt told him that y’all are being your usual boring selves and skipping Homecoming, so I think you should come with us to a party at Liam’s frat instead.”
Liam is a kid who graduated with Asha and Spencer last year, but I don’t know him very well. “Didn’t he rush—”
“I know,” she interrupts. “His frat is super weak. That’s actually part of why he wants y’all to come—he’s hoping Andrew will be a recruit. They’re going to lose their house if they don’t get more members in the next year or two.”
My feelings are a little hurt that Asha’s not the one who wants to see us. “I don’t think Andrew is staying here for school.”
She snorts. “Please, Andrew is going to smoke his way to a 2.0 and party his way through college. He’s staying here.”
I can’t argue she’s wrong without giving myself away, but it makes me feel bad for the times I would have laughed and agreed. “If you say so,” I say instead. “I’ll talk to the boys and see what they want to do.”
MATT
Friday afternoons are usually the least crowded time to be in the weight room, and I’m looking forward to burning off some frustration. It’s been another long week, with Mindy hounding me about StuCo responsibilities, Cal 3 being basically incomprehensible, and even my parents complaining that I dropped the ball on some chores.
But after I’ve been there about fifteen minutes, Carson and some of the baseball team stroll in. “You gettin’ ready for soccer?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I wipe my forehead. “Baseball’s a ways off, though, isn’t it?”
He shrugs. “Can’t start too soon.”
I nod and wait for him to step away, but he stays. “You need a spot?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I can wait though.”
“Nah, it’s cool.” The faster I get it over with, the faster I can get back to my own workout. I’m pretty strong from rock climbing, and taller than Carson, but he outweighs me by at least fifty pounds, and he’s pressing two of me. He does several reps, letting the bar bounce off his chest for help, but I’m not about to critique his form when he could wrap me around the bench.
On the last rep I’m scared he’s going to blow the tendons out of his arms, but he manages to get the bar back into place. “Shit,” he says, breathing hard. “You need one?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Cool.” He goes about his business and I go about mine, but he comes back while I’m doing pull-ups. I crank out twenty more, just to prove I can. “So,” he says, when I drop to the floor. “You and Sanders. Y’all sure hang out a lot.”
Damnit. I towel my hair, hiding my face for a moment. “Well,” I say, dropping the towel to my shoulders, “she’s my best friend, so that’s bound to happen.”
“Cool.” I take a gulp of water right as he says, “She gives good head.”